suddenly came to life and shot away underneath him, the surprise bringing a burst of bubbles from his mouth and causing him to instantly rise.
On the surface he had to pause to steady his nerves before he dove again, though he should have expected to disturb turtles. A fourth descent allowed him to gather up two more fistfuls of mud, but in the muck was not a trace of gold or silver coinage.
He resolved on the fifth dive to stay down and search through the mud as long as possible. He filled his lungs and descended, his body beginning to protest such exertion and his mind beginning to recoil from the secrets of the dark. But he did grip several handfuls and sift through them, again without success.
After the eighth dive, Matthew came to the conclusion that he was simply muddying the water. His lungs were burning and his head felt dangerously clouded. If indeed there was a bounty of gold and silver coins down there, they existed only in a realm known by the turtles. Of course, Matthew had realized that a pirate's treasure vault would be no vault at all if just anyone—particularly a land creature like himself—could swim down and retrieve it. He had never entertained the illusion that he could— or cared to—reach the fount's deepest point, which he recalled Bidwell saying was some forty feet, but he'd hoped he might find an errant coin. He imagined the retrieval process would involve several skilled divers, the kind of men who were useful at scraping mollusks from the bottoms of ships while still at sea. The process might also demand the use of hooks and chains, a dense netting and a lever device, depending on how much treasure was hidden.
He had surfaced from this final dive near the center of the spring, and so he began the swim back to the shallows. He was intrigued by the current he'd felt below the level of fifteen feet or thereabouts. It had strengthened as he'd gone deeper, and Matthew wondered at the ferocity of its embrace at the forty-foot depth. Water was definitely flowing down there at the command of some unknown natural mechanism.
In another moment his feet found the mud, and he was able to stand. He waded toward the bank and the tree beside which he'd left his clothes and the lantern.
And that was when he realized his lamp was no longer there.
Instantly a bell of alarm clanged in his mind. He stood in the waist-deep water, scanning the bank for any sign of an intruder.
Then a figure stepped out from behind the tree. In each hand was a lantern, but they were held low so Matthew couldn't see the face.
'Who's there?' Matthew said, trying mightily to keep his speech from shivering as much as his body was beginning to.
The figure had a voice: 'Would you care to tell me what you're up to?'
'I am swimming, Mr. Winston.' Matthew continued wading toward the bank. 'Is that not apparent?'
'Yes, it's apparent. My question remains valid, however.'
Matthew had only a few seconds to construct a reply, so he gave it his best dash of pepper. 'If you knew anything of health, ' he said, 'which obviously you do not, because of your living habits, you would appreciate the benefit to the heart of a nocturnal swim.'
'Oh, of course! Shall I fetch a wagon to help load this manure?'
'I'm sure Dr. Shields would be glad to inform you of the benefit.' Matthew left the water and, dripping, approached Winston. He took the lantern that Winston offered. 'I often swim at night in Charles Town, ' he plowed on, deepening the furrow.
'Do tell.'
'I am telling.' Matthew leaned down to pick up his shirt and blot the moisture from his face. He closed his eyes in so doing. When he opened them he realized that one of his shoes—which had both been on the ground when he'd picked up the shirt— was now missing. At the same instant he registered that Winston had taken a position behind him.
'Mr. Winston?' Matthew said, quietly but clearly. 'You don't really wish to do what you're considering.' From Winston there was no word or sound.
Matthew suspected that if a blow from the stout wooden heel was going to come, it would be delivered to his skull as he turned toward the other man. 'Your disloyalty to your master need not deform itself into murder.' Matthew blotted water from his chest and shoulders with a casual air, but inwardly he was an arrow choosing his direction of flight. 'The residents might find a victim of drowning on the morrow... but you will know what you've done. I don't believe you to be capable of such an act.' He swallowed, his heart pounding through his chest, and took the risk of looking at Winston. No blow fell. 'I am not the reason for your predicament, ' Matthew said. 'May I please have my shoe?'
Winston sighed heavily, his head lowered, and held out his hand with the shoe in it. Matthew noted that it was offered heel-first. 'You are not a killer, sir, ' Matthew said, after he'd accepted the shoe. 'If you'd really wished to bash my head in, you never would have signalled your presence by moving the lantern. May I ask how come you to be here?'
'I... just left a meeting with Bidwell. He wants me to take care of disposing of Paine's corpse.'
'So you came to consider the fount? I wouldn't. You might weigh the corpse down well enough, but the water supply would surely be contaminated. Unless... that's what you intend.' Matthew had put on his shirt and was buttoning it.
'No, that's not my intention, though I had considered the fount for that purpose. I might wish the town to die, but I don't wish to cause the deaths of any citizens.'
'A correction, ' Matthew said. 'You wish not to bear the blame for the death of Fount Royal. Also, you wish to improve your financial and business standing with Mr. Bidwell. Yes?'
'Yes, that's right.'
'Well, you're aware then that you have Mr. Bidwell stretched over a very large barrel now, don't you?' Winston frowned. 'What?'
'You and he share important knowledge he would rather not have revealed to his citizens. If I were in your position, I would make the most of it. You're adept at drawing up contracts, are you not?'
'I am.'
'Then simply contract between yourself and Mr. Bidwell the task of corpse disposal. Write into it whatever you please and negotiate, realizing of course that you will most likely not get everything you feel you deserve. But I'd venture your style of living would find some improvement. And with Bidwell's signature on a contract of such... delicate nature, you need never fear losing your position with his company. In fact, you might find yourself promoted. Where is the body now? Still at the house?'
'Yes. Hidden under the pallet. Bidwell wept and moaned such that I... had to help him place it there.'
'That was your first opportunity to negotiate terms. I hope you won't miss the next one.' Matthew sat down in the grass to put on his stockings.
'Bidwell will never sign any contract that implicates him in hiding evidence of a murder!'
'Not gladly, no. But he will sign, Mr. Winston. Particularly if he understands that you—his trusted business manager—will take care of the problem without bringing anyone else into it.
That's his greatest concern. He'll also sign when you make him understand—firmly but diplomatically, I hope—that the task will not and cannot be done without your doing it. You might emphasize that the contract with his signature upon it is a formality for your legal protection.'
'Yes, that would make sense. But he'll know I might use the contract as future leverage against him!'
'Of course he will. As I said, I doubt if you'll find yourself without a position at Bidwell's firm anytime soon. He might even send you back to England on one of his ships, if that's what you want.' The job of putting on his stockings and shoes done, Matthew stood up. 'What do you want, Mr. Winston?'
'More money, ' Winston said. He took a moment to think. 'And a fair shake. I should be rewarded for my good work. And I ought to get credit for the business decisions I've made that have helped pad Bidwell's pockets.'
'What?' Matthew raised his eyebrows. 'No mansion or statue?'
'I am a realistic man, sir. I might only push Bidwell so far.'
'Oh, I think you should at least try for the mansion. If you'll excuse me now?'
'Wait!' Winston said when Matthew started to walk away. 'What do you suggest I do with Paine's corpse?'
'Actually, I have no suggestion and I don't care to know what you do, ' Matthew replied. 'My only thought
